


An argument is an occasion too

by BreitzbachBea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Like Father Like Son (Online Novel), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bickering, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Original Character(s), Trigger Warning Alcohol, Trigger Warning Frenchness yikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 21:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreitzbachBea/pseuds/BreitzbachBea
Summary: Even though they had their differences in the past, Michele finds peace in Arthur's arms and home these days.It doesn't mean however that every day is peaceful and sometimes, their past comes back to interrupt their peaceful life - in the form of French champagne & Michele's petty old grudges towards past lovers.





	An argument is an occasion too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RileyValentino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyValentino/gifts).



> This was a commission written for Riiru.

During some moments Michele’s ears and heart ached for the crash of waves against the shores in the silence of this house. 

Yet, even though the silence of Arthur’s house lacked this soothing sound, he never missed his sprawling, empty mansion once he was in England. 

He never felt _lonely_ in these cosy four walls, he thought as a newspaper rustled in the living room. Michele had never craved what he had with Arthur, but he enjoyed it. It was the peace and quiet, the _stability_ he needed in his life right now. 

“That bottle of champagne looks very expensive,” he said loudly with one eyebrow raised and a dim smirk on his face while he looked at the bottle he had just found in the cabinets. 

A quieter rustle from the living room. “Oh, I suppose it is. It was a gift.” 

“A gift by _him,_ I assume?” 

A louder rustle. A sip. A clock ticked. “Yes.” 

“Then I also assume you don’t need it anymore.” 

An even louder rustle, the clank of a cup put down on its saucer and hurried steps. Michele turned to the door with the same expression from before, but the corners of his mouth and his eyebrow lifted further when Arthur stopped in the doorframe. 

There was a frown on his face and confusion in his eyes. “Would you stop doing this? Why would anyone in their right mind throw away a bottle of champagne?”

“Because we’re not going to drink it.” Michele let go of the bottle with one hand to gesture with both. “If you want to enjoy a good bottle of sparkling wine, I will get you the finest spumante the whole of Italy has to offer!” 

“This isn’t sparkling wine, this is champagne –“ 

“Oh, did he drill that into you?” Michele asked and Arthur pressed his lips together, eyes half lidded with a scowl in them. 

“All three of them did, as well as his mother. They insisted on it like you insist on all the differences in your pasta, which I frankly don’t see.” 

“Can you taste the difference between champagne and sparkling wine?” 

Arthur’s lips became even thinner. “Can you?” He crossed his arms. “What happened to your appreciation of other countries’ fine culture?” 

“Oh, no no no, Arthur. I can appreciate the national treasure trove that is Italy and its cultural heritage while still thinking Italy would be a much better place without the other Italians. This however,” he raised the bottle, “is _French_ and all France and its people have ever done is the same as Italy, but worse. So trust me, you don’t need this cheap copy of a good sparkling wine.” 

Michele turned around, but within a moment Arthur had stridden over to him and plucked the bottle out of his hand, which made Michele open his eyes and his smirk grow into a wide smile. Arthur’s appearance didn’t tell of the punch he could pack, but whenever his strength was demonstrated, Michele was delighted. 

He still smiled when he looked into Arthur’s annoyed face. 

“You need to stop taking your petty revenge on François out on _my_ belongings,” Arthur told him. 

“You overestimate how much I hate François and underestimate my general animosity towards France as a country.” Michele looked at the bottle and then back at Arthur. “But be honest, are you really ever going to drink this?” 

Arthur frowned, eyes buried under huge eyebrows. “If it’s the only way to keep you from throwing it away, I’ll kill the whole bloody bottle tonight.” 

Michele smirked again, even more defiantly than before. “I won’t cook any food for French wine.” 

“Well fine, then I’ll cook,” Arthur said and finally got a reaction out of him. 

His eyes widened. His shoulders dropped before he pulled them up and put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “Oh no, now don’t make threats. If it makes you happy, I’ll endure cooking, knowing I’ll have to eat it with champagne.” He pressed a kiss to Arthur’s cheek and put a hand onto the bottle, yet Arthur had to loosen his grip before he could gently take it to put it away. 

He kissed his lips and after a moment, Arthur relaxed. He nibbled at Arthur’s lower lip and felt his smile before he turned around. 

“Now go back to your tea and newspaper while I think about what to cook for this evening,” Michele said while he gave Arthur a few gentle pushes towards the kitchen door. His smile vanished when he looked over his shoulder at the bottle. With a frown and jaws clenched, he wondered if he could yet get away with pouring it down the drain. 


End file.
